Discovering Mr Baggins
by Eareniel
Summary: A.K.A. The Quest for Erebor: The story of a Hobbit, told through the eyes of the dwarves.
1. Balin

**Summary: **The story of a Hobbit, told through the eyes of the dwarves.

**Tags:** Character study, Friendship, Romance

**Disclaimer:** None of this belongs to me. I'm just borrowing the characters to play around with them.

**Author's Note:** As you may have guessed from the summary, this story is heavily based on the book (with some elements from the first movie mixed in). When I was re-reading The Hobbit in spring, I noticed that Mr Tolkien tends to skip over a lot of stuff. He takes great care describing the exciting action and the countryside, but not much attention is paid to the relationships among the companions. There are long stretches of time that get swept away with just a few sentences. The beginning is basically: "They rode for a month, nobody spoke to Bilbo much." and "They spent two weeks in Rivendell. It was nice." So it got me wondering: what happens in the times that he doesn't describe?

This is a "behind the scenes" fic. I'm not really rewriting the book, just filling in the blanks that Mr Tolkien left and adding a little slashy embellishment of my own. Most of the story stays true to the original, but I took the liberty to change a few things to suit my needs.

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**Chapter 1 - Balin**

Everything was finally prepared for the journey.

Balin walked through the corridors of the palace, his mind going over the mental checklist of things they needed to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Satisfied that they had everything, he approached the door to Thorin's study to tell the king as much. Before he could knock, however, the sound of raised voices drew his attention and he paused with his hand raised in the air, rethinking his previous plan. Instead of knocking, he lowered his hand and leaned a little closer to the door to find out what was going on.

"I will not allow this!" The voice of Thorin's sister was sharp as a knife, the agitation in her voice audible even through the solid oak wood of the door.

"I have already made my decision," Thorin said in a tone that bore no argument. While this tactic might frighten lesser dwarves into compliance, it had never worked on Dís and her response came a second later, equally fierce.

"It's madness! This whole quest is a folly. Why go now, after all these years, when our kingdom here is finally peaceful and prosperous?"

"Erebor is our birthright. I wish to claim it back."

_Ah_, thought Balin, they were discussing Thorin's quest again. Thorin had been obsessed with the thought of reclaiming Erebor ever since he had returned from his trip to the northern Misty Mountains in early February. Dís had been supportive of him at first, helping him with planning, but once she had learnt that he planned to take with him both Fíli and Kíli, she had started trying to talk him out of it.

She had been trying to change Thorin's mind for weeks now, pointing out the weak spots in his plan (such as the fact that they had no idea how to kill the dragon), but so far her attempts had been unsuccessful. The only thing greater than Thorin's stubbornness was his pride and her disapproval only made him more determined to succeed in his endeavour. Even now, at the eve of their departure, she was still trying to dissuade him, but Thorin's mind was already set in stone and nothing she could say would move him.

"Must you take both my sons with you?" A hint of pleading entered her voice and Balin couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. The young princes had been excited about the adventure for weeks now, prancing around the palace, completely oblivious to the worry their participation in the quest was causing to their mother. "Why are you willing to risk both your heirs on this fool's errand?"

"Fíli and Kíli both want to go with me," was Thorin's answer.

"Of course they want to go with you," she said, exasperated. "They both adore you. They would follow you into the very fires of Mordor, if you asked them. That does not mean you have to take them both with you."

"Both of them are of age," Thorin pointed out.

"Barely," Dís said. "They are far too young for something like this."

"I was younger than they are when I fought Azog at the gates of Khazad-dûm."

"You might have been, but that still doesn't make this right. The road is dangerous and there is no guarantee they will come back. Do you want them to end up like Frérin? Slain before they celebrate their first hundred years?" Her voice was rising, the urgency in it now unmistakeable. "I have already lost my grandfather, my father, a brother and my husband. Do you want me to lose my sons, too?"

Balin closed his eyes. Dís must have been running out of arguments to be willing to bring up Frérin. Their long-lost brother had always been a sore point for the siblings – even more so for Thorin, who had been the one to watch him die before the gates of Khazad- dûm.

Thorin's response was too low to hear, but the voice of his sister was clear enough.

"If either of them dies, I will never forgive you."

Balin barely had time to step away from the door before it flew open and Dís stormed out. Before the door slammed shut behind her, Balin got a glimpse of Thorin standing by the window, his back-ramrod straight with tension. When she spotted Balin, Dís stopped mid-stride, faltering. She looked away and took a few seconds to visibly compose herself and rein in her temper before she turned to him. Her attempt was mostly successful, because when she spoke, her tone was almost civil.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," she told Balin.

"It is me who should apologise for spying on you," Balin said. "I happened to pass by and your raised voices drew my attention. It was not my intention to eavesdrop."

She waved away his apology with a careless hand.

"You've been forced to listen to our arguments for more than a hundred and fifty years now, Balin. This one is no different."

Balin glanced at the door. "I see that Thorin remains as stubborn as ever about the quest."

Dís sighed.

"I have tried to make him see reason, but he is blinded by visions of gold and glory and refuses to listen." She turned pleading eyes on him. "Is there any chance you could convince him to turn back?"

"No, I am afraid not," Balin replied. "I have talked to him several times, but his mind is set. He is determined to reclaim Erebor and nothing I or anyone else says can sway him.

Dís gave him a weary look.

"I suppose that I can't talk _you_ out of joining them, either."

Balin shook his head with a rueful smile.

"Someone sensible should go with them, to help keep those crazy dwarves in line. I am afraid Thorin won't be of much use in that department and my brother has always been quick to support Thorin in endeavours like this, so I won't get much help from him, either."

Dís stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"Will you look after Fíli and Kíli for me?"

Balin laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently once before letting go.

"To the best of my ability. They can be a handful even on their good days."

That drew a small smile from her.

"Yes, they are a pair of rascals. I have no idea who they get it from."

"Don't you?" Balin raised an eyebrow. By mutual silent agreement they started walking down the hall, leaving Thorin to his brooding. "I distinctly remember a young dwarven princess who liked to spend her days running away from her caretakers to join her brothers at the archery range. She refused to wear dresses and insisted on carrying a sword and always threw a tantrum when her brothers got to ride out on a patrol while she was forced to stay in the hall and study poetry."

She snorted.

"I have always hated poetry. Besides, my dear brothers always used the patrols as an opportunity to catch wild mice and spiders and smuggle them in my room, just to hear me scream when those critters jumped at me in the dark."

"Need I remind you of the time you hid a frog in Thorin's bed?" Balin asked.

"That was only once!" Dís informed him, her smile growing wider at the memory. "But the month of lessons on manners had been completely worth it to hear Thorin scream like a little girl."

Balin gave her a fond smile.

"Have you ever told Fíli and Kíli about that?"

"No, I don't think I have," she said. "I didn't want to give them any more inspiration for their mischief. Mahal knows they get into enough trouble as it is."

"You should go to them," Balin said softly. "They may be adults now, but they are still young enough for a good story. What do you know, maybe they will use it as an inspiration for their journey."

"Put a frog in Thorin's bedroll?" She chuckled and Balin was happy to see that most of her anger and bad mood had dissipated. "They are just daring enough to pull that off. My, Thorin has no idea what he signed up for when he agreed to take them with him. Maybe they will irritate him enough that he will send them back."

"I would not be surprised if he did," Balin agreed with a chuckle of his own. "I will look after your boys," he promised her when they reached the door to her quarters. Seeing that the corridor was empty, she drew him close for a brief hug. When she pulled back, her smile was fond.

"You have always been a good friend to us, Balin. Thank you for that."

He returned the smile.

"It was never a hardship."

"Have a safe journey," she wished him before she walked into her room, the door falling shut behind her.

"Let us hope we will," Balin muttered, going back to his room to finish packing.

°O°O°O°

_I am getting too old for all this adventuring_, Balin thought as he watched the dwarves riding around him, their countenance full of excitement and anticipation brought on by their quest.

Even though the sun shone pleasantly during the day and the countryside around them was lush with the oncoming spring, the nights were still cold and Balin could feel the chill from the ground seeping into his bones, leaving his limbs stiff and heavy in the morning. All the sleeping on the ground wasn't doing his back any favours, either, and more than once he caught himself watching the youngsters, a little envious of their carefree manner.

He had been like them, once, way back before the dragon had driven his kin out of the mountain and the endless wandering had worn them down to the bone, leaving only weariness behind. They had eventually found a new home in the Blue Mountains, but it wasn't quite the same. Balin didn't miss as much those grand halls and gold-plated furniture as he missed the sense of belonging.

He missed home.

Still, his sentimentality didn't prevent him from seeing things rationally. Thorin's Halls in the Blue Mountains might not be as grand and glamorous as those of Erebor had been, but they were comfortable and their people prospered well enough. All in all, he would have been content to spend the rest of his life there. Why they needed to trek for hundreds of miles only to get eaten by the dragon was beyond Balin's understanding. Why now, after all these years?

Balin didn't know for sure, but he strongly suspected that it had been the wizard who had put things in motion – a few choice words during a chance meeting in Bree had been all that was needed to renew Thorin's lifelong desire to getting his ancestral home back. Many times since then, Balin had wondered just how random their meeting had really been.

He had heard of Gandalf the Grey before – a wandering wizard with a talent for fireworks and meddling in other people's affairs. Gandalf had been very eager to support Thorin's quest and Balin couldn't help but wonder why that was. Wizards generally didn't seem to be interested in gold, or any sort of wealth, really. What did he gain by helping them restore the ancient dwarven kingdom? Did he want to get rid of the dragon? If so, why didn't he just kill the worm himself? Surely he didn't expect that thirteen dwarfs would be able to succeed where an army had not?

For only thirteen they were so far. From all the inhabitants of Blue Mountains, only twelve dwarves had answered Thorin's call. Together they formed a ragtag band of craftsmen, tradesmen and warriors. The latter ones were far too few in Balin's opinion and were either too old to hold a blade or far too young. Balin could only hope that Thorin would be able to rally some support at the meeting with other dwarven representatives, otherwise their quest was sure to end in a complete disaster.

There was no way they could take the mountain and get rid of the dragon with only thirteen people and Thorin had to know it, yet he insisted on going on the quest. Thorin was stubborn by nature but he was rarely careless. In all the years Balin had known him, Thorin had never pulled a foolish stunt like this. Thrór had been the one to attempt to reclaim Moria, but Thorin had always been more realistic about his chances, not willing to risk the fate of his people to chase idle dreams.

_What had changed?_ Balin wondered. What had made Thorin blind to danger and reckless to the point of foolishness? Was it the wizard's doing? It had to be. Balin couldn't guess, how much of this stubbornness was Thorin's own and how much had been caused by the wizard's words, but it worried him a little. He could understand the desire to fulfil a lifelong dream, but taking one's own kin and heirs on a quest that had very little chance of success was just plain irresponsible.

Fíli and Kíli had been eager to go from the first moment they had heard about the quest, but Balin couldn't blame them for that. They were still young and idealistic, having grown up sheltered in their comfortable home in the Blue Mountains. To them the dragon seemed like a faraway dream – an exotic tale told to little dwarflings as a bedside story by their mothers. Young Ori, too, had been excited about the prospect of having an adventure, viewing the whole enterprise as a fun trip to the wilderness.

While the other members of the company had been a bit more realistic about the risks awaiting them, Balin still doubted that they fully realized what an enormous obstacle the dragon presented. There were very few among them who had actually lived through the dragon's rampage – him, Thorin, Óin and Dori. The others had been either too young to fully comprehend what was happening or they hadn't been born yet, so Balin didn't blame them for not taking the dragon threat seriously, either.

Since Thorin had to stay behind in the Blue Mountains to attend the Council and Dwalin had gone ahead to scout the road, Balin had been appointed to lead the Company in Thorin's absence. To say he was less than enthusiastic about his new responsibility would be an understatement.

It had been years since he had last babysat Fíli and Kíli and to his chagrin he now found that getting older had done nothing to lessen their propensity for getting into trouble. After the third time he had to calm down a near hysterical Ori, because a snake had mysteriously found its way into his bedroll, Balin had half a mind to turn his pony around and tell Thorin in no uncertain terms just what he thought about this whole foolhardy business.

Thank Mahal they were almost at their destination in the Shire, and Dwalin would be joining them soon. His younger brother had always been good at keeping the Durin boys in line.

He was drawn from by his thoughts by Kíli's excited exclamation. The young dwarf had spotted the shop sign of the pub where they planned to spend the night and was now trying to beat his brother in a race towards the building. Balin just shook his head at their antics and followed with his pony at a much slower pace.

They were still tending to their ponies when a tall figure of an old man emerged from the house, looking decidedly out of place in a land where everything was hobbit-sized. He spread his arms in welcome when he saw them, his smile hidden in his grey beard.

"Welcome, my dear dwarves," the wizard said. "You are right on time. Put away your ponies and your baggage, and have a pint. The beer in this pub is particularly good. There's no need to rent any rooms here, however, because I have managed to find you dinner and accommodation at a house of an old friend of mine."

The dwarves quickly took care of their ponies and filed inside, ignoring the mistrustful glances the locals threw their way. The Shirefolk always had a tendency to look at the travellers with displeasure, even though there was always plenty of folk passing through these lands, and most of those travellers were merchants willing to spend a coin for a good pint of ale. Balin would be baffled by it, if he didn't remember Thrór's dislike of trading with the elves, despite the enormous profit it had brought him. Some things, Balin thought, were universal. Dislike of strangers being one of them.

It was sometime after sunset when Gandalf bade them to rise and ushered them outside.

"We should go now, while there is still some light left. It has been years since I last walked through these lands and I would hate to get lost in the dark. I left a note for Thorin with the barkeeper, so he should be able to find us easily when he arrives. Now come with me, it is not very far."

They let the wizard lead them over fields and through several settlements, the hedges around the narrow path often forcing them to walk in a single file. The dusk set in as they walked and lights begun to appear in the small round windows of the hobbit-holes, the hobbits inside sitting down for dinner. They passed through a small copse of trees and as they turned a corner, they saw a hill rising up from the countryside before them. Gandalf pointed towards a green door at the top of the hill, looking very pleased with himself.

"There lives our host. We should probably split into pairs before we come in, so that we do not overwhelm him. I am afraid that he was not expecting quite so many visitors tonight."

Nori's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Does this friend even know we're coming?"

Gandalf coughed a little.

"He is a very hospitable fellow. He likes having visitors."

"So he has no idea." Nori breathed. "This should be interesting."

"If he throws us all out, you're buying us dinner." Glóin warned Gandalf.

"I am sure it will all go well," Gandalf tried to placate them. "Bilbo is too proud of his manners to refuse you hospitality. His mother Belladonna wouldn't have hesitated to slam the door in your face, but Bilbo is too soft spoken for that."

"Well, that's reassuring," said Bofur. "Who is he, anyway? You haven't told us anything about him."

"Bilbo's grandfather was the Old Took, a most remarkable hobbit who ruled over most of the Shire for nearly a hundred years. Bilbo himself is a traveller and a scholar. He is also a great cook and very fond of food, which is part of the reason why we are going to visit him tonight. His pantry holds enough food to feed half the Shire."

That piqued their interest. They had been on the road for more than a week now and the idea of a feast was very tempting. Gandalf continued. "I have chosen Mr Baggins as the fourteenth member of our company, but he is proving to be rather reluctant to join our quest. I am hoping that you lot can help me convince him."

"And you hope to accomplish that by having thirteen dwarves barge inside his hobbit hole and eat him out of his house and home?" Balin raised a single sceptical eyebrow.

Gandalf started to look a bit uncomfortable with all the questions.

"Bilbo will come around, you'll see. Now look! I think that's Dwalin over there."

They all looked in the direction he was pointing and indeed, they could see Dwalin's unmistakeable silhouette striding up the hill. They watched in suspense as Dwalin knocked on the door. From the distance, it was impossible to see the hobbit inside, but after a moment of negotiation, Dwalin walked inside and the door closed behind him. Gandalf's smile turned smug.

"What did I tell you? Now Balin, you should go next, before your brother frightens poor Master Baggins to death. It has been a few years since Bilbo last dealt with dwarves and he might feel a little overwhelmed. We will be right behind you."

Balin started to climb the hill, no longer wondering about Thorin's sudden decision to go on a quest. The wizard was awfully persuasive. Thorin had never stood a chance.

Neither did any of them, Balin thought as the green door came closer. They could only hope that the wizard knew what he was doing.

°O°O°O°

"Funny little fellow bobbing on the mat" – Glóin's description of Bilbo Baggins may not have been the most flattering one, but it was, in Balin's opinion, fairly accurate. Balin's first impulse (after he had eaten and drunk enough to start paying attention to their host) had been to feel sorry for the poor creature, since it was obvious that Mr Baggins really had no idea why his kitchen was being occupied by a party of dwarves.

Still, Balin's sympathy didn't prevent him from sitting back and watching in amusement as the hobbit's irritation grew with each new dwarf until he looked like an angry teakettle, sputtering and puffing in the hallway while the dwarfs happily raided his pantry, paying him no mind.

Balin privately thought it was a miracle that Bilbo hadn't thrown Thorin out as soon as he'd seen him, so angry he had been at that point. Thorin had only been saved by his overly imperious manner and the hobbit's shock at the king's rudeness. If it had been Ori at the door, Balin thought, he would have ended up spending the night in the hobbit's front garden.

It had been amusing to see the hobbit's well-bred manners go to war with his temper. Bilbo Baggins obviously fancied himself to be a true hobbit gentleman, with old money and great respectability, but from the way he hadn't hesitated to chew out the wizard, it was clear that under all that polished exterior lurked a temper to rival Thorin's own.

Despite his feigned disinterest in their quest, the halfling had nearly fallen over his own feet in his eagerness to take a peek at the map of Erebor and Balin had no doubt that come morning his curious nature would win over his overinflated sense of propriety and prompt him to join their quest.

Thorin had doubted him, declaring the whole business in the Shire a waste of time, so when the hobbit finally showed up the next morning, Balin felt no small amount of satisfaction when Thorin reached for his coin purse, handing it to Balin with a glare.

Thorin's mood didn't improve much over the next few days. Balin didn't know if it was the failed meeting at Ered Luin or the dragon that weighted on his mind, but the dark haired dwarf kept frowning as he rode in the front by himself. Gandalf's attempts at conversation only got him glares so the wizard opted to ride with the hobbit instead, chattering about weather and Bilbo's numerous relatives.

Mr Baggins himself turned out to be a pleasant fellow, if a little timid. Once his irritation with the dwarves had passed, he turned back to the polite gentlehobbit he was and looked rather intimidated by the company. The dwarves paid very little attention to him. After the initial excitement of the hobbit's arrival had worn off, most of the dwarves started ignoring his presence, their turning conversations towards mining and gold. Balin on the other hand was more than happy to draw the halfling into a chat, curious about their new companion.

Sometimes it seemed to Balin that Thorin was bothered by the hobbit's presence, looking slightly uncomfortable whenever the halfling ventured near, but Balin chalked it up to his irritation with the wizard's meddling and soon stopped paying attention to it. The hobbit kept his distance from the king, preferring to ride near the back of the group. The discovery of missing handkerchiefs and the realisation that he was expected to ride a pony all the way to Erebor soon put Bilbo in a grumpy mood and for the next few days he rode by himself, frowning and probably making a mental list of all the things he had forgotten at home.

°O°O°O°

At the eve of the third day of their journey from Bag-End they finally spotted the village of Bree, bathed in the reddish-golden light of the setting sun. They all heeled their ponies, the thought of warm bed and home cooked food spurring them on. Thorin led them towards the pub, handing the reins of his pony into the hands of the waiting stable hand.

"There is no reason why we shouldn't enjoy the comforts of having a pint of beer and nice lodgings for the night," Thorin said. "It will be a long time before we can sleep with a roof over our heads. There is little hospitality to be found in the wilderness."

The dwarves dismounted and quickly filed into the pub, led by the aroma of roasting meat. Mr Baggins looked at them uncertainly for a moment before he separated from their group, making a beeline for the party of halflings sitting in the corner, who welcomed him with enthusiasm. Balin found himself pulled to the side by Thorin, whose keen eyes were watching the halfling with suspicion.

"Balin, keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't betray our quest." Thorin didn't wait for a response – he just clapped him on the shoulder and walked away to discipline his unruly group, which had taken up an entire table and was making a great deal of racket.

With a small sigh, Balin went after him, choosing a seat nearest the group of hobbits. So far, they only seemed to have exchanged the standard greetings and discussed the weather. Balin cut himself a nice slice of meat from the roast on the table and settled comfortably into his chair to listen.

"We haven't seen you in years, Master Baggins!" one is the local hobbits exclaimed. "You used to pass through here every year, but now you haven't visited for ages. Did you get tired of travelling?"

Balin turned his head a bit to be able to see the halfling's expression. The Hobbit was looking into his pint of ale, his face clouded.

"Travelling was a pastime of my youth, Mr Underhill. Now I have a business to run and there's little time for such frivolity."

"You took the business over from your father?" the hobbit called Mr Underhill leaned forward in curiosity.

"My father passed away fifteen years ago," Mr Baggins told him. "I haven't left the Shire since. I didn't want to leave my mother alone in the house."

"And how is dear Belladonna?"

"Mother passed away as well, a few years ago," Bilbo said softly.

That prompted a flood of expressions of sympathy from his drinking companions and a new order of beer, which brought on a lengthy discussion about various relatives, both alive and dead. Balin was just starting to doze off when a question brought him back on alert.

"What made you set out again? And with a party of dwarves at that?"

Mr Baggins shot a quick look at his travelling companions before he averted his eyes again.

"I have some business in the east. These dwarves have kindly allowed me to go with them. The roads are dangerous these days, so it is much better to travel in a group."

His lie didn't sound very convincing to Balin's ears, but the hobbits seemed to believe it, nodding in understanding.

"Are you visiting the elves again?"

Mr Baggins inclined his head with a smile.

"Yes, I hope to stop by Rivendell, if I have the opportunity."

The conversation turned towards the various travellers passing through Bree and the goings-on in the Shire and Thorin's group was completely forgotten. It seemed the halflings had little interest in the affairs of dwarves, preferring to discuss last year's harvest and the quality of soil in the East Farthing. No further mention of Thorin's company was made and Balin turned his full attention back towards his dinner.

Several hours later, when the conversation lulled and most of the local patrons had left, Mr Baggins removed himself into a corner with an oil lamp and a stack of parchments and sat down to write what looked like the complete history of the Shire.

Thorin's company paid no attention to him. They were still eating and drinking and several dwarves had pulled their instruments from their bags and started playing a merry tune. And through all that, Mr Baggins wrote furiously, frowning at his papers.

It was nearly midnight when he packed his things away and made his way towards Gandalf, whispering something in his ear. The wizard nodded sagely, a small amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. With a few whispered words, he pointed the halfling towards Balin.

Balin watched the hobbit approach, hesitation in his every step.

"Master Balin, may I have a moment of your time?"

Thorin threw him a sharp look, but Balin just shook his head and followed Bilbo into the corner, curious about his request. The Hobbit fidgeted a bit before he scooped up several parchments and offered them to Balin.

"I do not mean for this to look so suspicious, but this is a private matter for me and I did not want to discuss it in front of the whole company. Gandalf told me that you are knowledgeable about legal matters. If it is not too much trouble, would you be willing to look over the papers I have put together? I have written a will and a few other instructions and need someone to verify them."

Balin took out his monocle and sat down to read. The further he read, the higher his eyebrows climbed, for it appeared that Master Baggins had quite a fortune to his name. He gave the halfling a smile when he finished and reached for a quill, putting his signature under the hobbit's.

"Is everything in order?" Mr Baggins still looked a little nervous, clutching a tankard in his hands like a shield.

"Yes, Master Baggins, everything is in order. You are quite good at writing these documents."

The halfling ducked his head, his cheeks heating up at the praise.

"I write a lot of business letters."

Balin handed the parchments back.

"You still need one more signature for the will to be valid."

"Oh, that is no problem. Gandalf can sign it. Thank you for your service, Master Balin." With a small bow, he turned and carried his papers to the wizard.

Balin had barely reached the main table when he was accosted by Thorin, who dragged him away from the group in a gesture of impatience.

"What did the halfling want to discuss with you?"

"He needed advice concerning some legal matters." Since it was apparent that his cryptic answer hadn't satisfied Thorin, Balin continued. "He wrote a will and wanted me to verify it."

Thorin frowned.

"A will? What did it say?"

"That is confidential. I have no right to reveal anything to you." Before Thorin got huffy, Balin leaned in, lowering his voice. "However, I can assure you that whatever reason Master Baggins has for joining our quest, it certainly isn't money."

"Then why would he come with us?" Thorin seemed puzzled.

"I have no idea, my friend, but I am looking forward to finding out." With a friendly pat on his forearm, Balin left Thorin to brood in the corner and went to get another pint.

_To be continued..._

* * *

**A/N:** I've been working on this story since March and now, after countless edits and rewrites, I have finally decided to share it with the world. I'd like to have most of the fic posted before the second movie comes out and my head-cannon gets scrambled with a new dose of awesomeness, so the updates should be fairly frequent, two or three times a week. My work on this fic is almost finished (50K words are already written), so I should be able to keep my updates more or less regular. Each of the dwarfs gets their own chapter.

Chapter two should be posted sometime this weekend. Feedback is appreciated as always :)


	2. Bombur

**Chapter 2 - Bombur**

Chapter summary**: **_Thorin's company was a tightly knit group of friends and various relatives and there was little room left in it for a complete outsider. _

* * *

Bombur was a simple creature of simple tastes. He liked his comforts (mainly good food, and lot of it) and had always found the quiet, ordinary type of life to be more satisfying than any amount of glory that bloody battles could bring him. He was happiest in his kitchen, puttering with his assortment of pots and pans and had always preferred a spoon to a sword. He was willing to fight when necessary and had taken the mandatory fighting lessons with everyone else, but he found no pleasure in violence and tended to avoid it whenever he could.

Going on the quest hadn't been his idea and he had joined the Company only grudgingly.

When he had first heard Thorin's announcement, he hadn't paid it much attention, because things like that simply weren't for him. It was only after Bofur had come into his kitchen and spent the next two hours bouncing around in his ridiculous hat that he first started even contemplating the idea. He had tried telling himself that he wouldn't let Bofur talk him into it, but deep down he knew that he would end up on the road with the rest of them, if only to avoid being left behind while the others went off to pursue gold and glory.

Bofur had gradually worn him down with his enthusiasm, always finding an argument against Bombur's numerous objections and as the weeks passed, Bombur could feel his defences slowly crumbling. Bofur's excitement had been almost contagious and Bombur had never been able to tell his brother no when he got like this.

Even Bifur, who was normally quite low-key and preferred to keep to himself, had looked excited about the adventure and more than once had joined them in the evening for a quiet discussion, making plans and going over maps and lists with Bofur while Bombur sat quietly by the fire, listening to their banter and munching on pretzels. In the end he had given in, just like he'd always suspected that he would, though he still wasn't very happy with the idea.

As days on the road turned to weeks, more than once Bombur found himself regretting his decision to come on Thorin's quest. Travelling all day in a saddle was uncomfortable, the nights in early May were still cold and he didn't get to eat nowhere near as much as he would have liked.

To his relief, he soon discovered that he wasn't suffering alone, because there was at least one other member of the company who shared his misery - Mr Baggins didn't look much happier about their travelling conditions than he did. Despite anything the hobbit may have said about the journeys of his youth, it was clear that he had grown accustomed to comfort over the last few years and the sudden switch to a Spartan lifestyle wasn't doing him much good.

For the first few days, the hobbit had often complained about various things – his forgotten handkerchiefs, the absence of a second breakfast, rain, Glóin's snores – but after Dwalin had threatened to tie him up and leave him in a ditch if he didn't keep quiet, he started keeping his objections to himself. Riding beside him at the back of the company, Bombur could still hear the hobbit occasionally grumbling when he thought no one could hear him. Bombur knew better than to openly complain where Thorin could hear him, but he often found himself privately agreeing with the halfling's mutterings.

They had been travelling for two weeks, the rolling countryside around Bree giving way to the forests of the western wilderness. One evening, as Bombur was skinning a deer for dinner, the halfling wandered over and sat down on the log next to him.

"Do you need any help with the dinner, Master Bombur?" He looked a little lost, like a child left behind at the country market by its mother.

Bombur looked down at the half-skinned deer on the ground then at the group of dwarves, who were at various stages of preparing the camp for the night. Nobody was paying any attention to them, so Bombur concluded that nobody would mind if he took a short break. Laying down his knife, he stood up and gave the hobbit a small smile.

"I'll be happy to get some assistance with this. You see, I was planning to make some roasted venison tonight, but I don't have the herbs I need." He scratched the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. "I'm afraid that I've never been very good at telling one plant apart from the other."

Bilbo's face lit up.

"Oh, I can certainly help you with that. I have a nice herb garden at home, so I should be able to help you find what you need."

Bombur returned the smile.

"That would be really nice of you. You hobbits are very fond of flowers and herbs, are you not?"

He led the way into the forest, listening to the hobbit chatter about his herb garden. As he watched Bilbo's animated face while the hobbit explained to him the difference between rosemary and marjoram, Bombur was suddenly glad that he hadn't turned down Bilbo's tentative offer of friendship. It was clear that the halfling was glad for his company.

From Bombur had seen, Bilbo didn't seem to get along much with the other dwarves except for Balin, and even though Gandalf occasionally spared him a moment to chat, it wasn't enough interaction for a creature used to being constantly surrounded by various neighbours and relatives.

Bilbo Baggins was lonely and Bombur could sympathise, because apart from his brother Bofur nobody spoke much with him, either.

People at home often came to Bombur to ask him for favours, but few of them ever showed any interest in him personally. He had long grown used to it, but it still stung a little every time it happened. The companions had been treating him decently enough so far, but he was well aware that some of them didn't have a very high opinion of him.

However, unlike Bilbo, Bombur was still a dwarf and a full member of the company and was treated as such – they included him in their conversations and jokes and even though some of them laughed as often at him as with him, they never ignored him. Bilbo, on the other hand, was at best tolerated, at worst considered an additional piece of luggage they had to carry with them. Bombur didn't envy him his position in the slightest.

Thorin's company was a tightly knit group of friends and various relatives and there was little room left in it for a complete outsider. Bilbo seemed to realise that and most of the time he kept to himself, staring off into space or scribbling in the little notebook he had brought with him.

Since Bombur found that he enjoyed Bilbo's company, the two of them started going for evening walks together, gathering herbs and vegetables for dinner while the other dwarves bustled around the camp, tying up ponies and preparing the fire. Nobody ever asked Bilbo to do anything, so the hobbit fell into the habit of following Bombur around and helping him prepare dinner. Bombur didn't mind. Bilbo was a very good cook and a great lover of food and they spent a lot of time exchanging recipes and chatting about various dishes they liked to prepare.

Bilbo was usually very chatty, keeping up a steady stream of words as they prepared food, but one night he fell silent, chopping vegetables with enough force to make them fly off the chopping block, making it look like he had a personal grievance against them. Bombur watched Bilbo for a little while, noting that the hobbit held the knife in a furious, while-knuckled grip.

Not wanting to have his best kitchen knife broken, Bombur touched Bilbo's shoulder, drawing the hobbit's attention.

"We should get some mushrooms for the stew before it gets too dark," he said, gently taking the knife out of the hobbit's hand.

Bilbo's face brightened a bit at the mention of mushrooms, but quickly fell back into a scowl when they passed Thorin on their way into the woods. Bombur let Bilbo walk first, keeping a more sedate pace behind him to allow the hobbit to burn some of his anger. Finally they came upon a nice cluster of mushrooms, but Bilbo paid them no mind. Instead he stared into the distance, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Bombur bent down to start picking the mushrooms, pointedly not looking at Bilbo.

"What's the matter?"

Bilbo whirled toward him.

"I feel useless sometimes, do you know?" he burst. It was obvious this had been just a rhetorical question, so Bombur stayed silent and waited for him to continue.

"There are so many times when I look around and think 'What have you gotten yourself into, Bilbo Baggins? You are not a warrior, or a thief, or an adventurer. You don't belong here. What were you thinking, running off on a foolhardy quest with a bunch of dwarves you just met?'" He shook his head a bit. "I don't have a place here. You all belong together, in one way or another. I am just a tag-along. Some days, I have no idea what I am doing here."

Standing below the towering pines, he looked small and deeply unhappy.

Bombur sighed and laid down the bag of mushrooms. Food could wait, he decided. Friend came first.

Walking over to the hobbit, Bombur gestured for him to sit down on a log and settled on a wide tree stump next to him.

"What makes you think that?"

For a moment, it looked like Bilbo would try to avoid the question, or come up with some excuse, but in the end he just lowered his eyes to the ground.

"I had an argument with Thorin this morning. You probably didn't see it, because you all went ahead of me." He gave Bombur a questioning look. Bombur shook his head.

"No, I didn't hear anything. What happened?"

"When we all went to bathe in the small river near Weathertop, I slipped on some stones and fell under water. Before I could straighten up, Thorin pulled me out and then started yelling at me about danger and my stupidity. I told him that I would have been able to get out of the water on my own, since it wasn't very deep, which prompted a lengthy lecture about my recklessness, in which he managed to insult me several times. I told him off." Bilbo grimaced. "It didn't go well and now I feel a bit ridiculous. After all, he _did_ help me."

Bombur hummed in understanding, weighing his words.

"You're quite brave, standing up to Thorin like that. Most dwarves I know wouldn't dare raise their voices against him. I know _I_ wouldn't dare. He had no right to insult you like that." He gave the hobbit a stern look. "And you shouldn't have yelled at him."

"I know." Bilbo played with a loose thread on his knee. "I am afraid our personalities don't mesh very well. I am normally much more restrained in my anger, but Thorin just rubs me the wrong way. I think it will be better if I keep my distance from him, to prevent causing any more scenes."

With a small sigh Bilbo slid down from the log and picked up the sack of mushrooms.

"Come, Bombur, we should get the rest of the mushroom and go back before they send a search party after us. If I have learned anything about you dwarves, it's that you are a grumpy lot when you're hungry."

They harvested the rest of the mushrooms in companionable silence. On the way back, it occurred to Bombur that there was something he wanted to know.

"Why _did_ you come with us, Bilbo?"

The hobbit huffed a laugh.

"To be honest, I have absolutely no idea. It was an impulse, a spur-of-a-moment decision. I just woke up in the morning and realized that I wanted to go with you. It makes no sense – I have a life in the Shire, my comfortable home, all my books and plenty of friends. Why would I exchange that for months of sleeping on the ground and trudging through mud in some godforsaken land, the name of which I cannot even pronounce, all for the promise of some elusive piece of dragon treasure that I won't be able to take home anyway? But for some reason, going away on a quest with you lot just felt right, so I went."

Bombur nodded in understanding.

"You know, I didn't want to go on Thorin's quest at all. Bofur pulled me along." He smiled at Bilbo's surprised expression. "Not all dwarves are warriors and adventurers, like Dwalin or Nori. Some of us prefer the comforts of home over the glory of a battle."

He patted Bilbo on the shoulder and went back to the camp to prepare dinner, leaving the hobbit to ponder his words.

°O°O°O°

"What have you been up to, dear brother?" Bofur plopped down on the log next to him a few days later, peering curiously into the pot. "I couldn't help but notice that you have lately become friends with our resident hobbit."

Bombur made a non-committal shrug, unwilling to satisfy his brother's curiosity. It was one of their endless games – Bofur would try to wheedle information out of him and Bombur would pretend to play ignorant, just to enjoy his brother's growing frustration.

"Oh, come on, Bombur, don't leave me in the dark. Everyone is dying of curiosity about him."

Bombur continued stirring.

"Are they? Why don't you talk to him yourself, if you're so curious?"

Bofur made a face.

"I would, but I'm afraid that he still hasn't forgiven me for making him faint."

"That was two weeks ago," Bombur pointed out. "Mister Baggins doesn't strike me as someone who would hold grudges like that."

"Still, a little more observation won't hurt before I try to strike up a conversation with him."

Bombur snorted.

"You act as if he was some dangerous wild beast you are hunting."

Bofur grinned.

"He's a funny little creature, that's for sure. I have never dealt with Halflings before, so I don't know what to expect."

"He's not that different from us, you know," Bombur said, his eyes following the hobbit, who was preparing his bedroll on the other side of the camp. "He may be softer and a bit timid and have some strange mannerisms, but he seems to like most of the same things that we do. A good meal, a pint of ale, an interesting story and the pleasant company of friends. The last seems to be woefully lacking around here," he couldn't help but remark.

They both paused to watch as the hobbit bent over his bedroll and picked up something, cradling it in his hands carefully. He shot a dirty look at Fíli and Kíli before he disappeared behind a tall rock to walk down to a nearby river. Bombur just shook his head and returned to his stirring. Not five minutes later Bilbo walked back, a long suffering expression on his face. He made a beeline for Bombur but hesitated a bit when he saw that the portly dwarf wasn't alone.

"Good evening, Bofur," he greeted cautiously, his eyes flitting between the two brothers.

"Good evening to you as well, Mister Baggins," Bofur gave him his customary grin, which made Bilbo relax a bit and he sat down on a nearby log, glaring at Kíli's back. It didn't take long for him to share the source of his vexation with them.

"There was a frog in my bedroll. Again."

Bombur gave him a sympathetic look.

"What was this? The third time?"

"Fourth," Bilbo said. He gave them a bemused look. "Why are they doing this? Are they trying to bully me?"

"I think it's their own strange way of showing affection," Bombur told him. "They have always been like that, playing pranks on everyone. Before you joined the party, they played this prank on Ori. He almost cried when he found a snake sitting on his pillow."

"Poor Ori," Bilbo said, looking at the young dwarf, who was knitting happily by the fire. "If nothing else, it's not very original. We used to play this prank when we were children. I thought they were old enough to know better."

"They were hoping that you would scream like Ori did," Bofur told him with a grin. "I think you must have greatly disappointed them."

"I'm not afraid of frogs," Bilbo said. "Or snakes, for that matter. Besides, even if I was, finding one in my bedroll for the fourth time rather lowers the shock value. Not only is their prank not effective, it's not even original at this point. They could at least use a mouse or something for a change, the frog prank is getting old."

"How come you know so much about pranks?" Bofur asked him, interested. Bilbo gave him a look.

"Young hobbits are full of mischief. I was no different. When I was a boy, I used to run around the Shire with a band of my Took cousins, causing trouble. It gave my mother no small amount of grief to hear about all the pranks we had pulled on our unsuspecting neighbours."

"Maybe you should tell them about it. They love hearing tales like that," Bombur said.

Bilbo gave the pair of princes in question a thoughtful look.

"I'd rather not give them any ideas."

"Or you can stuff a frog in their beds in return," Bofur told him with a grin. Bilbo grinned in response, but shook his head.

"That wouldn't be wise. Thorin would have my head if he heard about it. I've seen how he chewed them out yesterday for that stunt with the ponies. I'd rather not cross him if I can help it."

"I can't fault you for that," Bofur said. "Still, you should talk to them, or you will have froggy bedrolls all the way to Rivendell. They have trouble taking a hint unless you tell them outright."

"That seems to be a common trait with you dwarves," Bilbo said, but his tone was more amused than insulting. Bofur nodded in agreement.

"Aye, our kin can be pretty dense. Go talk to them, I'll help Bombur with dinner."

They watched as the hobbit walked over to Fíli and Kíli to deliver what looked like a pretty impressive lecture. Their fire was too far away from the ponies to hear what he was saying, but the young dwarves' faces were telling enough. At first they looked sheepish, but their amusement quickly returned. In no time Bilbo was seated with them, the three heads bent together as he explained something.

Bombur turned back to his pot with a smile. Bilbo was finally making friends.

°O°O°O°

Bombur was a kindly creature by nature and generally patient with everyone, but he was very touchy about his culinary prowess. So when a week later Óin started complaining about eating the same stew for five days in a row with Dori vocally joining in, Bombur threw down his ladle and stormed off into the woods, anger burning like bile in his throat.

They're tired of his stew? He'll tell them where they can stick it if they don't like it. He stomped through the forest, fuming.

Finally, he sat down on a tree stump and almost at once he could feel the anger bleeding out, leaving him feeling foolish. Why had he run away like that? And over such a silly matter... He had never been able to stay angry for long and when he did get angry, he just looked silly, not impressive like Thorin or Dwalin. Now he would have to go back to the camp and his companions would laugh at him for throwing a tantrum. He wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest.

Suddenly, there was a slight movement behind the tree to his right. Bombur made to stand and reach for a weapon, but relaxed when he saw it was only Bilbo.

The hobbit gave him a small smile of greeting, but stayed standing at the edge of the clearing. Bombur thought it was a bit sad that even though _he_ had considered them friends for weeks now, Bilbo was apparently still unsure of his welcome.

"I had planned to sulk on my own for a while," Bombur said, "but I think I'd rather have some company."

The tension in Bilbo's shoulders eased a bit and he walked over to him, sitting down on the soft forest floor.

"You know, Bombur, your companions are a bunch of ungrateful whiners. And hypocrites to boot."

Bombur looked around in alarm, praying that Thorin wasn't hiding somewhere close, listening to the halfling badmouthing him. But luck, it seemed, was on their side and nobody had followed them from the camp. He motioned for the hobbit to lower his voice and whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they had the gall to complain about having warm food for dinner every night, even though none of them can cook half as well as you. If you ever decided not to cook dinner, they would have to content themselves with a few unseasoned, half burned squirrels."

Bombur smiled a bit, grateful for Bilbo's attempt to cheer him up. Bilbo continued.

"But I found out something else. Fíli and Kíli are always eager to talk about their home and have told me many interesting things. Apparently, Thorin has a palace in the Blue Mountains and most of you lot live there with him. I was so moved by Balin's story when he told us about the ransacking of Erebor that I believed Thorin all this time when he painted you as some poor band of homeless, orphaned dwarves, wandering the wilderness for nearly two hundred years."

He cocked his head.

"But it's not completely true, is it? If my calculations are correct, you have been living in the Blue Mountains for close to a hundred years. Fíli and Kíli were born there, spent their entire lives there. As have you."

At Bilbo's questioning gaze, Bombur slowly nodded.

"So I was right." Bilbo looked pleased with himself. "Your merry companions would like to present themselves to me as a group of hardy warriors, toughened by years of hardship, but with the exception of Thorin, Balin and Dwalin, most of you have been living your lives quite comfortably these past few decades. Comfortably enough, in fact, that they have the gall to complain about having the wrong sort of stew for dinner.

"I am not trying to mock you," he added quickly, when he realized how flippant he sounded. "I realize that losing your ancestral home to the dragon was a terrible tragedy and that a lot of your kin feel uprooted, but I think it is a bit ungrateful towards Thorin in particular when you all act like you are beggars. According to Balin, Thorin helped rebuild the ancient ancestral home in Belegost and your people are quite well-off these years." He lowered his gaze. "I may not like Thorin much, but I respect what he has done for your people. He may have his faults, but he is a leader worth following. I can see why you all look up to him."

"How can you dislike Thorin and admire him at the same time?" Bombur asked, puzzled. Bilbo snorted.

"Well, for one, he was awfully rude to me when we met. His barging into my home and insulting me as a way of greeting didn't leave the best first impression. Since then, he has done little to endear himself to me. He is arrogant and overbearing and treats me like a particularly cumbersome piece of luggage, or a wet dog that somebody let into the dining hall." He sighed.

"But however much I may dislike him as a person, I can see his worth as a leader. I may not like him, but I will follow him nonetheless." He turned to look at Bombur. "Does that make any sense?"

Bombur took a moment to think about it. He himself was quite fond of Thorin, because the king loved his apple pies and would often come to his kitchen early in the morning to watch him bake and then steal a few of them away before his nephews discovered them. He had always treated Bombur with respect and made it a point to show that he valued his work.

His own fondness for the king notwithstanding, Bombur could see why Bilbo might not like him. To an outsider Thorin seemed harsh and grim, his straightforward manner coming across as rudeness. For someone as used to gentle manners as Bilbo was, it must have been quite a shock to be treated with such disrespect. And, king or not, Thorin had been very rude to the halfling.

Bombur didn't dare give any of those thoughts voice, so he opted for nodding instead.

"I think I know what you mean."

Bilbo got up from the ground, brushing pine needles off his trousers.

"Are your gloomy thoughts gone yet, Bombur?"

To his surprise, Bombur realized that he was indeed feeling much better. Bilbo's presence was much more effective at dispelling his bad mood than any amount of brooding would have been. He stood up.

"Yes, thank you for coming after me." He gave Bilbo a smile. "We should probably go back."

They started walking at a leisurely pace, neither of them too eager to rejoin their companions just yet.

"You know, Bombur," Bilbo said, "if you are still feeling unappreciated, I can tell you that I know a most wondrous mix of herbs that will help you make the best rabbits roast tomorrow."

They barely made it twenty feet before a shadow moved behind a nearby tree and Thorin stepped out, his face like a thundercloud.

"There you are."

Bombur swallowed nervously, wondering just how much of their conversation Thorin had heard. He tried coming up with some excuse, but realized suddenly that Thorin wasn't looking at him at all. His gaze was firmly trained on the hobbit, who looked rather puzzled by the attention.

Bombur finally found his voice.

"There was no need to come for us, Thorin. We were just coming back to the camp."

The dark haired dwarf nodded and gestured for Bombur to lead the way, while he himself fell in step with the hobbit. Bombur breathed a small sigh of relief as he started heading back, glad that there was no problem after all.

Just as the light of the campfire became visible through the trees, Thorin spoke up behind him.

"So, I am rude, am I?"

_To be continued..._

* * *

Disclaimer: No frogs were harmed during the making of this story :D

**A/N:** Did you know that Bombur doesn't have a single spoken line in the first hobbit movie? I think that's a bit sad. The film is almost three hours long, and plenty of time is given to Radagast's flailing and Saruman's council, and yet they couldn't be bothered to give any lines to the dwarves who are the actual protagonists of the book. I really hope the second movie improves upon that.

I'm writing the chapters in this story with the movie characters in mind, but in the case of Bombur, I had nothing to go on. The movie ignores him almost completely and his only characteristics in the book are that he's fat (mention at least once ever chapter) and tends to complain a lot. Not the most flattering description. I'm really curious what you thought about my version, because this dwarf was tough to write for me.

The next chapter should be up in the next few days.


	3. Ori

**Chapter 3 - Ori**

Chapter summary: Rivendell was the most beautiful place Ori had ever seen.

* * *

Rivendell was the most beautiful place Ori had ever seen. While the others grumbled about being tricked by the wizard and having to take refuge in a house of their enemies, Ori didn't mind. He had never shared the dislike of elves that most of the other dwarves seemed to have.

In fact, his feelings towards their hosts were quite the opposite – he had always secretly admired elvish culture and languages and had long hoped that he would be able to visit the Hidden Valley one day. When he was a boy, he had managed to come by a tattered copy of old Elvish tales and spent many years trying to decipher the language, eventually managing to learn the language well enough to be able to read the stories and poems within. Since then, he had read every book that he could get his hands on (which was a surprisingly high number, for a dwarvish library) and had spent plenty of days dreaming about mighty deeds and brave heroes from ages long past.

Just like his drawing, his knowledge of elvish was a hobby that he hid away from the world and only used for his own enjoyment, guarding his skill most jealously. He especially liked the letters, the flowing elegance of the elven script as compared to the angular runes of the dwarven tongues and he soon started using the script for his personal notes, especially the ones he didn't want his nosy brothers to read.

Having spent most of his life in Ered Luin, he had never had the opportunity to meet any elves personally (the only ones he'd seen had been the ones heading for the harbour in Grey Havens, and those had been far off and too engrossed in their affairs to spare a moment for a curious dwarfling), but he had always hoped that he would be able to meet them one day. Thus, for him the elves had remained creatures of strange beauty, hidden by a veil of mystery.

Coming into Rivendell had been like stepping into a dream. This was a place that still lived in the times of the legends, untouched by the changing world around it. The very architecture seemed to breathe with ages of history, giving the impression that any minute a hero of old might step around a corner, and it took all of Ori's restraint not to go running to the library the first chance he had. He knew that Thorin wanted to leave as soon as possible, but still hoped that they might be able to stay at least for a few days.

They had little contact with the elves on their first night in Rivendell. After a quick dinner they all gratefully went to bed, weary after their flight from the orcs. Gandalf had opted to leave any serious business for the morning, letting them rest. They found their breakfast already waiting in their rooms when they woke up and even though a few of them were miffed about the absence of bacon, the fruit and wafers were nice enough.

Ori was just putting on his boots and wondering if he could go for a walk around the house when Thorin walked over to him, looking intent.

"Your brother tells me that you can understand Elvish. Is that true?" He started without any preamble.

Ori looked up, startled.

"I- yes, a bit. I can't speak it, though."

Thorin leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"I want you to pay attention to what those pointy-eared bastards whisper behind our backs. Can you do that?"

"Ye- yes, I think so," Ori stuttered. He dropped his eyes to the floor to avoid Thorin's burning gaze. Having all that attention suddenly turned on his person made him highly uncomfortable.

"If you find out anything, report it to me." Without further word, Thorin turned on his heel and strode away.

Ori took a calming breath and waited a minute for his hands to stop shaking before he gathered his notebook and quill and went to search for the library. It didn't take him long to find it. The room was enormous, spanning two floors and appeared to be completely empty at first. A closer look, however, revealed another occupant - one barely visible over the pile of books around him.

Bilbo Baggins was sitting at a corner table with an enormous volume opened in front of him and seemed to be in a world of his own. Not wanting to disturb him, Ori turned away and started to peruse the many bookshelves. He was so absorbed in reading the book titles that he didn't notice the hobbit approach him until he was standing less than two feet away.

"Do you like books, Master Ori?" Bilbo asked, making the dwarf in question jump and back away a few steps. The hobbit raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I am sorry for startling you like that. I cleared my throat a few times, but you didn't seem to hear me."

"N-no, it's quite all right," Ori replied, walking back to stand on his previous spot. "I got lost in my own head for a bit. It happens to me a lot. Dori always scolds me for it, but I can't help it." He shut his mouth at once, embarrassed that he had gone on such a monologue, but Bilbo's expression wasn't mocking. If anything, the hobbit gave him an understanding smile.

"When I was younger I used to spend whole days just laying on my back under an apple tree in my mother's garden and daydreaming," Bilbo confessed in a low voice. "I was forced to stop my indulgence when I took over Bag-End, but I still enjoy a good story whenever I can get it." He gave the bookcase a speculative glance. "Are you interested in elvish stories?"

His voice held none of the judgement that a dwarf's would if they asked that question, so Ori decided to answer honestly.

"Yes, I like them very much. I think they are beautiful, all those tales of great battles and eternal love. I would read them all day if I could."

"So would I," Bilbo said, smiling. "You can read them here; there are all sorts of interesting books in this library. I think we are going to spend a few more days here, so you should have plenty of time to read."

"If I only knew where to start," Ori sighed, gazing wistfully at the library. "There are so many books here and so little time."

"Let me help you," Bilbo offered and they spent several enjoyable moments perusing the library as they looked for the perfect title. Together they selected several books and moved back to Bilbo's table in the corner of the library. The desk was covered in maps and books and Bilbo moved a few of them carefully aside to make room for Ori's books. Ori couldn't help but feel curious upon seeing a map of Erebor lying on top of the books.

"Might I ask what you were reading before I came in? Unless it's a secret," he hastily added, remembering that Nori often didn't like it when he asked him questions about his business.

"This?" Bilbo lifted the map in question. "I'm doing a bit of research. I know a fair bit about elves and their history, but next to nothing about dwarves - or dragons, for that matter. I don't like being in the dark, especially since a dragon is involved and I'm expected to do something about him. All of this probably won't help me much in the end, but at least I will have some idea of what I am facing."

"That sounds reasonable," Ori nodded. "I can tell you what I know about our history, but there are probably plenty of things that nobody told me, either because they thought I wasn't old enough, or because they are a secret."

"I would be happy to hear about it," Bilbo said, "but for now I won't keep you from your book. There will be plenty of time for dwarvish tales once we're back the road."

They settled into a comfortable silence, the books before them drawing them in. Time flew and sooner than Ori would have liked, a fair-haired elf came to summon them for lunch.

To say the atmosphere at the meal was tense would be an understatement. The dwarves weren't even pretending to pay attention to the elves now and Gandalf sat with Elrond at the far side of the table, muttering in Elvish. Thorin was tense, shooting the wizard sideways glances full of suspicion. Dwalin looked to be about two steps away from drawing his axe. The others huddled together, picking at their food, which was still woefully lacking any meat.

Suddenly, Bilbo's voice rose above the table in a clear, if slightly accented Sindarin. Everyone around the table paused and several of the dwarves seemed to forget about the food in their hands. Elrond looked at the hobbit in surprise.

"What did you say?" he asked in Westron.

"I said," Bilbo switched to the Common tongue, "that it is awfully rude of you to speak in a language your guests do not understand, especially if they are sitting right next to you." He flashed a pointed gaze at Thorin. "Also, if you were aiming for secrecy, you should have made sure that there is no one at the table who can understand you."

Reaching for a bread bun, he muttered: "I thought elves had better manners than this."

There was a choking sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter and Gandalf hastily reached for a napkin, eyes twinkling.

Elrond luckily appeared more amused than angry at being admonished for his bad manners by a creature half his size.

"Tell me, Master Baggins, do all hobbits speak Elvish?" The elven lord appeared genuinely curious.

"Oh, definitely not," Bilbo said. "Most of them don't care about what goes on outside their own gardens. There are a few Tooks who sometimes travel to Bree, but that is as far as anyone goes. There is no need for anyone to learn Elvish, or Dwarvish, for that matter. Whatever Shire may be, a land of scholars it is not."

"So how did you come by your knowledge of the Elven Tongue?" Elrond asked. "You speak surprisingly well for someone who has had little contact with my kin."

Bilbo shrugged.

"I have books. I own several volumes of elvish poetry and old tales, brought from their travels by a few adventurous relatives of mine. When I have time, I translate them into the Common Tongue. I haven't had much opportunity to speak the languages though. The elves passing through our lands are few and far between and seldom willing to stop for a while and chat with a hobbit."

"Do you speak Quenya as well?"

Bilbo shook his head.

"Not much. I know a few words, but that's about it. I find Sindarin a lot easier than High Elvish. I suppose that with time and some practice, I could speak both." His eyes flitted over the present dwarves. "I am afraid that I never had the opportunity to learn any Dwarvish." He gave an apologetic smile to Balin, who smiled in return.

"You may learn yet, laddie."

The rest of the meal passed much easier, with most of Elrond's attention given to Bilbo, who was doing his best to answer all of his questions. Several elves came to speak with the hobbit after the lunch, surrounding him on one of the terraces, and they were delighted that such a tiny creature from far away land had knowledge of their language and culture. Bilbo's Elvish was a bit halting at first, as he stumbled over some of the more difficult words, but with the passing time he started to relax and the words came to him easier. Soon he was chattering away, chuckling at a joke that one of the elves made.

Ori sat on a nearby bench, drawing in his notebook and listening to their conversation with half an ear, when a shadow fell on him. He looked up to find Thorin looming over him, watching the halfling with suspicion.

"What are they talking about?" Thorin murmured.

Ori risked a quick glance at the group, making sure they couldn't hear him.

"So far they have talked about the Shire, the hobbit race and gardening and right now they are discussing elvish poetry." Ori thought it was innocuous enough, but Thorin's face stayed clouded.

"Keep an eye on him." He stormed away.

After dinner, which had been pleasant for a change, Elrond himself approached Bilbo.

"Lindir tells me that you have put some of the ancient tales into verse. Would you be willing to recite a few of them this evening? We rarely have guests in Rivendell and my kin would love to hear you sing."

Bilbo looked a little surprised at the request, but delighted nonetheless.

"Well, it is an honour, but surely you are used to much higher quality around here."

Elrond gave him a rare smile.

"Have no worry about your reception. Hearing a new voice will be very refreshing."

As if Elrond's confidence had given him courage, Bilbo stood a little straighter, his chest puffing out.

"If that's the case, then surely I cannot refuse. However, I would prefer to sing tomorrow, if you don't mind. It's been a while since I last read those poems and my memory is a little rusty. Is there anything in particular you wish to hear?"

"My daughter is fond of the tale of Beren and Lúthien," Elrond said. "As for my sons, you cannot go wrong with a tale of heroic deeds. You would have to ask the others yourself what they want to hear."

"Well then, I will take my leave and prepare a few pieces." Bilbo gave Elrond a small bow and walked out of the room. Most of the elves had already left as well, disappearing Mahal knows where.

Glóin was looking after Bilbo's retreating figure with a frown.

"He can sing? Did anyone know that?"

"I did." Bombur said around his mouthful of bread. Everyone looked at him. He took a sip of wine to wash down the bite. "He has a nice voice."

"Why did he never sing for us?" Kíli sounded affronted.

Bombur shrugged and reached for another loaf of bread, unwilling to tell any more. No amount of curious wheedling managed to get the plump dwarf to talk, so the Companions soon lost interest in the subjects and one by one wandered away to pursue their own pastimes. Ori decided to take a walk around Erebor's gardens and spent a pleasurable hour watching the sunset and soaking up the peaceful atmosphere.

When he came back into the room he shared with Dori and Nori, he found both of his brothers present, locked in one of their customary quarrels. They both fell silent when he entered, the air between them simmering with silent tension.

Before he could ask about the source of their quarrel, Dori turned to him, his eyes checking for any signs of discomfort or injury. Ori used to find Dori's checkups annoying when he'd been younger, his brother's eyes making him feel like he was fifteen again and had just scraped his knee on the gravel path in front of their house, but out here on the road their ritual felt strangely soothing, like a small dose of normalcy among all the excitement and danger around them.

"What have you been up to?" Dori asked. "We've barely seen you all day."

Ori walked over to his bedside table, putting his books down.

"I spent the day in the library with Mr Baggins."

"Spying for Thorin?" Nori raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

"What- How did you-" Ori sputtered. He recovered quickly enough, drawing himself up in face of his brother's knowing smirk. "No, if you must know, I did it because I wanted to. Bilbo is nice and I enjoy his company. He knows a lot about elvish history and culture and he was kind enough to recommend several good books to me."

"That sounds like a hobbit after your own heart," Dori said with a small smile. "I'm glad you had a good time. I haven't spoken with the hobbit much myself, but he seems like a polite, decent sort of fellow."

Ori beamed.

"Yes, I think we are well on our way to becoming friends."

"I hope you are not thinking of something more than friends," Nori gave him a side-eye.

"What? No!" Ori backpedalled. "How did you even come up with that? He's nice, but I don't like him like that."

"Good," Nori said. "Just thought I should warn you in case you started to get any ideas - that path might be very dangerous. Borderline suicidal, even."

"What do you mean-?" Ori started to ask, but Dori spoke over him.

"You're one to talk," he shot at Nori, "after the stunt you pulled today."

"What?" Ori was confused. "What happened?"

Dori and Nori exchanged a silent glance, obviously trying to come up with a way to hide the problem for him, but Ori wasn't interested in hearing excuses. His brothers had always kept important things from him because they thought that he was too young to know about them and he was getting tired of being constantly left in the dark. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to look more impressive than he felt.

"Please don't lie to me," he told them before Dori could open his mouth. "If I'm old enough to go on the quest with you, I'm old enough to know what's going on."

His brothers exchanged another look, before Dori gave Ori a resigned nod.

"Very well. You want to know what happened? I'll tell you what happened. Our idiot brother thought it would be a great idea to pick a fight with Dwalin, of all people."

Nori, who had gone over to the window, whirled back at that.

"I already told you it wasn't my fault."

"You should not provoke him like that," Dori said. "You know how he is."

"I didn't start it!" Nori protested, "I was just minding my own business when he came over to me and accused me of stealing one of his knives. I told him that I didn't have it, because I have plenty of knives of my own, and expressed my awe that he was even able to tell that something was missing, since he probably had trouble finding his own feet in the morning. That pissed him off and he started threatening me, at which point I helpfully suggested that he try looking for his missing knife inside his own arse, since his head seems to be permanently stuck in there. He then called me a bastard and threatened to cut off my head, at which point you arrived and dragged me away."

Dori ran a hand over his face in clear exasperation.

"For Mahal's sake, how many times do I have to tell you not to get into fights with him? I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised if he snapped one day and really cut your head off."

"This has happened before?" Ori asked, puzzled. He had never noticed anything amiss between the two.

"Nori and Dwalin have had a feud for years now," Dori said.

Nori sat down at the windowsill and started sharpening his knife, his expression surly.

"He caught me stealing once and has been out for my blood ever since, trying to accuse me of made-up crimes just so that he can bully me."

"You don't exactly help the situation, acting like you do," Dori pointed out.

"I don't have to prove anything to him," Nori replied haughtily. "He's the one bullying me. I just call him out on it because he's an idiot."

"He may be an idiot, but he's also Thorin's best friend," Dori reminded him. "If it ever came down to the word of you two, who do you think he would believe? Thorin may trust you, but his kin will always come first for him."

Nori made a disgusted face and returned back to his work, not willing to discuss it anymore. Ori walked over to his bed and crawled on it, leaning back until he was propped comfortably against the wall. He pulled a book on his lap, eager to continue reading the story. Before he opened the book, however, a flash of memory came back to him.

"I think that Fíli has it," he told the dwarves in the room. They both raised their heads with the start, as if they had forgotten that he was there, too.

"Fíli has what?" Nori asked.

"The knife," Ori said. "I think I saw him playing with it this afternoon. He and Kíli sometimes secretly borrow Dwalin's weapons and then snicker behind his back when he can't find them. I'll tell Fíli to give it back tomorrow, so that he stops bothering you."

Nori gave him a crooked smile.

"That's really nice of you, Ori, but I don't think he will stop harassing me just because he learns that it wasn't me this time. He's like a dog with a bone."

Dori, bless his heart, caught the hidden implication in Nori's sentence.

"_This time?_ Do you mean to tell me that you have stolen from him before?" His voice started rising dangerously and Ori lifted his book, trying to hide his face behind it. Dori on a rampage was a thing to behold and Ori hoped that he wouldn't get caught in the ensuing blowout as well.

"What if I had?" Nori shot back, defensive. "It would only serve him right, the self-righteous prick."

"You _have_ to be joking."

Ori slunk down from the bed and tiptoed to the door, leaving them to their argument. He was now almost regretting that he had ever asked. With his book clutched in his hands, he started back towards the library. The elves would surely have a nice lamp he could borrow.

°O°O°O°

The argument was still going strong the next morning, making Ori's head hurt from all the yelling. Because he was getting tired of Nori and Dori's endless bickering, Ori decided to go for another walk around the gardens. The elves hadn't forbidden them from leaving the house, so he decided to use the opportunity to explore Rivendell as much as he could. The sun had climbed over the horizon a good while ago, bathing the hidden valley in the golden light of early morning, and the many houses of the famed elven home stood around him in all their beauty, beckoning him to come and take a closer look.

Most of the other dwarves spent their days in Rivendell holed up in their rooms, grumbling about bloody tree-shaggers, but Ori didn't care to imitate them. With the entirety of Rivendell at his disposal he felt like one of the heroes from old stories, with grand adventures waiting for him behind every corner. The few elves that he passed on his way to the gardens paid him little mind, for which he was grateful, because he knew that he must be gaping at all the wall murals and tapestries that he was passing.

Turning a corner, he spied a familiar curly-haired figure sitting on one of the stone benches at a nearby terrace. Bilbo had a book in his lap, but he wasn't reading it. His head was tipped back into the sun and his eyes were closed, an expression of contentment on his face. Ori didn't want to disturb him, but he must have made some noise because the hobbit's eyes suddenly opened and he shot a quick look around before he saw Ori and relaxed again. He beckoned Ori to come closer and closed his eyes again, going back to basking in the sunlight.

Ori walked over and sat down next to the hobbit, trying to take a discreet peek at the book in Bilbo's lap.

"I think I could stay here forever," Bilbo said quietly. "It's so beautiful and peaceful here."

"It is beautiful," Ori said. "It's too bad that we won't stay here for very long. I would love to explore the library some more."

"I'm thinking of moving here when I am old," Bilbo said. Ori looked at him in surprise.

"I thought Shire was your home."

Bilbo shrugged.

"It is. I am just not sure if I'll be able to survive another sixty years there. My neighbours and relatives can be vexing on the best of days."

"If you want to move away, why don't you stay in Erebor with us?"

Bilbo snorted.

"I don't think Thorin would allow that. He seems to be annoyed with everything I do. I can't imagine him being willing to have me around permanently. Besides, I haven't even seen Erebor yet. I have no idea if I will like it. Rivendell, on the other hand, is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. Just sitting here with a book brings me peace unlike any I have ever felt." His eyes turned distant. "I think I will be in sore need of peace once this business with the dragon is over."

"It does all seem to be rather exciting, is it not?" Ori asked. "With the trolls and orcs and everything?"

"A bit too much excitement for my taste," Bilbo said. "And the thought that we're barely halfway to Erebor doesn't bring much comfort, either. Valar know what else will happen to us before we finally arrive to the mountain."

He didn't look very happy with the prospect. Ori decided to change the subject.

"You brought a book of poetry on the quest with you?" He nodded towards the book in Bilbo's lap.

"Didn't you?" Bilbo raised an eyebrow. Ori lowered his gaze.

"I did," he admitted, reaching into his jacket for the small volume. Instead of handing it to Bilbo he cradled it in his hands, running gentle fingers over the well-worn cover. "It probably won't survive the journey, but I wanted to have it with me nonetheless."

"Dwarvish poems?"

"And elvish," Ori said, flipping a few pages at random to show Bilbo a glimpse of the writing. "I have always wanted to write some stories of my own, but I never seem to find the right words."

"What sort of tales do you dwarves have?" Bilbo cocked his head in curiosity. "Stories of mighty deeds and hoards of treasure?"

"Yes, we have plenty of stories like that," Ori smiled. "We like tales about great heroes and bloody battles, but we have a lot of love stories as well. I think most of us have a soft spot for those, since love is so hard to find for our kind."

"Is it?" Bilbo seemed genuinely interested.

"It is." Ori nodded. "Less than half of us ever find someone to marry, so it is considered a great blessing for a dwarf to find their One. Those who don't usually marry someone nice enough, but a lot of our kin just decide forgo marriage altogether and turn towards their craft instead."

They fell silent after that, both of them getting lost in their own thoughts. A blur of movement caught Ori's eyes and he spotted Thorin with his nephews on the terrace below. They were all dressed in their mail and it looked like Thorin was putting them through their paces, forcing them to practice their sword fighting and archery even here, in this peaceful place.

Ori pitied the princes a bit, because it was obvious that neither of them was pleased about being robbed of their free time, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel a little envious of their grace and skill with which they wielded their blades. He himself had never managed to learn how to fight properly and he knew that his sling was a source of amusement among the older companions.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Bilbo's voice. The hobbit was watching the trio of dwarves as well, his expression thoughtful as he followed Thorin with his eyes.

"Did Thorin's partner die?" he asked quietly. "Is that why he is in such a bad mood all the time?"

Ori looked around in alarm to make sure nobody was listening to their conversation.

"You can't just ask something like that," he told the hobbit in a hurried whisper. When Bilbo's face pulled into a confused frown, he continued more calmly. "Our romantic lives are a very private matter for dwarves, especially when the romance doesn't end well."

"Oh," said Bilbo. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry if my question was inappropriate." He made a move to stand up, but Ori halted him, shaking his head. He took another cautious look around before he leaned closer.

"It's not really proper of me to talk about this, but since I don't know much, I don't think it can do any harm."

Bilbo leaned closer on the bench, eyes full of curiosity.

"I don't know Thorin very well, you see," Ori told him in a confidential whisper. "Before this quest started, I have only ever seen him from afar, so I'm not privy to his secrets, but as far as I know he's not married at the moment nor has he ever been. Maybe his partner died long ago, but I think it's more probable that he never met anyone, because the local gossips like to tell tales about his sister's frustration with Thorin's continued refusal to take a spouse. I don't know how much of that is true and what has been made up – you would probably have to ask Nori about that, since he is much more knowledgeable about those things than I am."

"No, that's all right," Bilbo said, looking a bit embarrassed. "I really didn't mean to pry into his private business. I was just wondering why he always seems so grim. Thank you for telling me this."

He resolutely tore his eyes away from the trio below and stood up, slipping the book of poems back into his vest pocket.

"Come, Ori, there should be enough sunlight in the library by now for us to read comfortably."

°O°O°O°

That night Ori came into the music hall to find it full of elves seated around the room on various chairs and stools, waiting in anticipation. Bilbo was standing at the front of the room, talking to the harpist in a low voice. Ori made his way to Balin, who was already seated in a comfortable armchair in a corner. The older dwarf smiled at him and handed him a cushion.

When Ori was seated, Balin leaned to him and whispered: "It is amusing, how our companions think they are being inconspicuous." He nodded in the direction of the hallway, where stood several of the dwarfs, their heads poking over the railing.

Their attention was soon diverted back to Bilbo, who had finally stepped forward to present his first poem, and from the corner of his eye Ori could see the dwarves slowly starting to sneak into the hall and trying to sit down nonchalantly. Balin's grin grew with every passing dwarf, but his eyes stayed resolutely on the hobbit.

Bombur had been right – Bilbo really did have a lovely voice. He sang in a clear, pleasant tenor that harmonized nicely with the harp and carried around the hall. He sang several ballads and even though some of the verses didn't quite do justice to the Elvish original, the elves didn't seem to mind, smiling at him indulgently.

Most of the company had gradually gathered in the hall, curiosity getting the better of them and winning over their dislike of anything elvish. Only Dwalin had openly refused to come, declaring the whole affair "poncy elvish nonsense" and Thorin had disappeared right after dinner, but as Ori looked around in the middle of Bilbo's rendition of "The Fall of Gondolin", he spied the dwarven king standing by the door, hidden in the shadows. Thorin had a strange look on his face as he gazed at the hobbit and Ori didn't know what to make of it.

Later, when most of the company had already gone to bed and Ori was returning from his bath, he came by chance across Gandalf and Thorin, who were standing together below one of the balconies. They were talking in low voices, but Ori had sharp ears and when he leaned in close enough, he had no trouble discerning their words.

"Your Halfling is spending an awful lot of time with those tree-shaggers, muttering in elvish," Thorin was saying. "I don't like it. Are you really sure he is trustworthy?"

"Do not question my judgement, Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf sounded rather irritated, as if this was an argument they had had several times before and he was running out of patience. "I personally chose him for this quest. If I say he is trustworthy, then trustworthy he is. The elves have simply taken a liking to him and he enjoys their company, because they treat him with respect, unlike some." He gave Thorin a very pointed glare.

Thorin huffed.

"If he likes the pointy-eared bastards so much, then why doesn't he just stay with them? Nobody forced him to come with us." His voice sharpened. "What use is he to the company? He cannot fight. He's not even a proper burglar. So far, I haven't seen any qualities that would earn my respect and I very much doubt that the dragon will be charmed by his elvish poetry. Why did he come with us, Gandalf?"

"You will have to ask him that, for I do not know. Bilbo's reasons for joining your quest are his own and I do not presume to know his heart. As for his qualities – you will have to discover those for yourself. I doubt that even he is fully aware of all the things he is capable of. Give him time, he may surprise you yet."

"I very much doubt that," Thorin said haughtily.

"Let him be, Thorin. If nothing else, right now he is doing a marvellous job of averting the attention away from your quest."

Thorin looked surprised.

"That...is true. I have to admit, nobody has asked after the purpose of our journey yet, and we have been here for three days already. I had expected a shower of questions, but everyone has been too busy fawning over the Halfling to pay any attention to us." His eyes narrowed. "Is he doing all of this on purpose?"

Gandalf just gave him a mysterious smile and walked away, humming a tune under his breath. Thorin sat down on the bench, looking thoughtful.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway and Ori realized that he was standing on a balcony in his nightshirt and anyone could walk by and see him spying on their leader. Clutching his bundle of clothes tightly to his chest, Ori carefully tiptoed away.

_To be continued..._

* * *

A/N: Word of warning: not all of the dwarfs are warm and cuddly. In the book version they all resemble a group of doddering uncles, bumbling their way to Erebor (except for Thorin, who is insufferable half the time) and the movie didn't give most of them much space to shine, either, so I have decided to take it upon myself and give the dwarves a bit of a personality, to make them distinguishable from each other by something besides their hair. I like all of the dwarves and won't do any bashing, but I thought it might be interesting to give some of them a bit of greyer morality, so that they aren't all just copies of each other.

The feud between Dwalin and Nori is entirely my fabrication and has nothing to do with either the book or the movie. From my experience, a group of people can't spend this much time in such close quarters without conflicts. Not all of these dwarves were friends when they set out - about half of the group are various relatives from the Durin line, while the rest are just random dwarves who had joined them for various reasons. I thought it wouldn't be unreasonable to think that after the initial excitement from the Shire wore off, the gears would start to grind a bit. Mr Tolkien mentions a few conflicts within the group, but he never elaborates, so I decided to play with that aspect a bit.


End file.
